


A Taste Of Pity

by Miko



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-23
Updated: 2011-07-23
Packaged: 2017-10-21 16:25:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/227224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miko/pseuds/Miko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sollux has found a new favourite flavour.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Taste Of Pity

The first time your matesprit keens and shudders against you, you're not sure whether to curse or bless your burned-out eyes. You're pretty sure it's your blindness that finally tipped his feelings for you from friendly antagonism into pity, so if not for that, you wouldn't have him at all.

But oh, gog, you would give absolutely anything to be able to see him in that moment; drowning in the pleasure you're giving him, _not_ angry for probably the first time in his life.

Maybe Terezi would be able to 'see' his expression, but even after weeks of lessons you can barely differentiate the smell of one colour from another. He's just a dim black/grey blob to your senses, and that's not nearly enough.

Reaching out, you run your fingers over the hard angles and rough planes of his face, trying to construct the image from memory and exploration. He's biting his lower lip, hard enough that you can feel the indents as you trace the softer skin with your thumb. The sharp points of his teeth are hidden from your touch, buried in his flesh. His eyes are closed, his lashes fluttering against your fingers as you carefully ghost over them. His brows are drawn together still, but you're pretty sure it's an expression of pleasure, not a scowl.

"What the fuck are you doing, grubtard?" he demands, but the usual bite is missing from his words. His voice has gone high and tight with the effort of forcing air through his constricted windtube. _You_ did that to him, and you've never heard anything so sexy in your entire life.

"I wanna see you, kk," you say softly, almost reverently. "I want to know what you look like when I touch you."

"Surprised you haven't started licking me, then," he replies. He makes a little huffing noise, like he's trying to sound exasperated, but it turns into a chirp at the end.

Smiling, you raise your hand further, brushing his hair out of his eyes and then sliding your fingers into the thick mass. It only takes you a moment to find his horns, and he warbles and shudders again, suddenly resting more of his weight against you.

"Would it be so bad if I was licking as well as touching?" you ask, trying for an innocent tone. He chirps his answer, unable to say anything coherent while you're playing with the base of his horns, and you grin in response.

Tormenting him always was one of your favourite pastimes. That hasn't changed just because you started pitying him, too.

Leaning in, you flick your tongues out, tracing gently over his cheek. Colour/taste explodes over your senses. You're still not anywhere near as accurate as Terezi, but you can taste things a lot better than you can smell them. And you've got an advantage over her, here - your bizarre split tongue lets you taste things in stereo, so to speak. The slight offset means your depth perception is considerably better than hers. It's the first time in your life you've ever been grateful for any part of your freakish mutated body.

Especially right now, when you can almost see the familiar curve of his cheek beneath your tongues. The grey of his skin is tinged with something else, something sweet - his blush, you realize, licking again to try to get a better taste. It's no use, the flavour is too muddied by his skin colour, but it definitely tastes good.

Shifting your focus, you stretch your neck and tug his head down at the same time, until you can reach his horns with your mouth. The horns themselves aren't sensitive, of course, but he chirps when you tongue one anyway. In anticipation of what's coming, maybe.

The nubby tip of his horn tastes like lemons, tart and refreshing. The place where it blends into orange is especially delicious, as is the area where orange darkens to red. The flavour of sweet, ripe cherries bursts over your tongues and you savour it for a moment before dropping the final inch to taste the warm flesh at the base of the horn.

He warbles as you flick your tongues over the sensitive area there, sliding one on either side of his horn until he writhes against you.

All this time you've both been rocking your palms against each other's bone bulges, occasionally dipping down to tease your nooks before returning to the main task. As you switch sides to lick at his other horn, he keens softly and arches his hips up, his bulge sliding from beneath the bony mound at last. He's trembling against you now, and you feel a fierce sort of protective pity towards him at such a vulnerable moment.

He's never had a matesprit before, or even a kismesis; for all his obsession with romance, he never got to experience it for himself. That's one reason it's so frustrating that you can't see him, because being the first person to ever witness him losing control feels like such an important distinction and you want to enjoy it fully.

His bulge is wriggling against your hand, and you palm it carefully, mindful of your claws. The last thing you want to do is hurt him at all. Not that he would probably notice if you were a touch too rough at the moment, considering the way he's warbling breathlessly into your collarbone.

The skin around his horns is flushed with increased bloodflow because of all the stimulation, until it feels feverish against your tongues. Again you can almost identify the sweet taste of his blood colour beneath the grey, but this time the overpowering flavour of cherry from the base of his horn is what masks it.

Now your bulges have emerged as well, and it's your turn to chirp repeatedly as he lets them tangle around his fingers. It's a lot harder to concentrate on 'seeing' through your tongues when he's playing with you like this, stroking the callused pads of his fingers down the length of one and even dragging the tip of one claw delicately over the root.

Squirming closer together, you hook your legs over each other and grind your groins together. His bulge writhes over your hand as you slowly withdraw, and he keens again at the loss even as he does the same. But the moment there's nothing to block it, his bulge finds its way to your nook, and yours follow it back to his.

The sensation of him sliding inside you is amazing, like and yet completely unlike what it had felt like when you did it with your kismesis. This is softer, gentler, and a whole different level of hot. He trembles as one of your bulges slips into his nook as well. The other is left without anywhere to go, but it wraps itself around the base of his instead, a solution that's more than acceptable to both of you.

Once again you curse your inability to see his face as his keen goes high and strained. He's never had anyone inside him before, and you can remember how stunned you felt the first time. You want to see that reaction from him, want to revel in it and use the visual feedback to help you push him as high as he can go before he breaks.

You've got one hand at his hip to steady yourself as you grind up into him, but your other hand returns to his face, tracing the shape of it and trying to decipher the expression. Your tongues are still wrapped around his horn, stroking now in time to the writhing of your bulge inside him, making his breath hitch and keen stutter erratically.

His bulge is squirming, pressing against your breaking point with each movement, until you feel every bit as flushed and overheated as he is. Your breath is coming short and sharp, barely able to get any air through your windtube, and finally you have to untangle your tongues just so you can get a little more oxygen. He whines at the loss and digs his claws into your lower back, yanking you closer.

The hint of pain makes the pleasure all the sweeter, and you retaliate by lowering your head and biting his jaw. That makes it even harder to breathe than just having your tongues extended, of course, but it's worth it for the way he chirps and squirms beneath your touch. You're tempted to dig your teeth in harder and draw blood, but this is your matesprit, not your kismesis. A little pain is okay, spice to balance the sweetness, but actually injuring him isn't appropriate.

His keening is taking on an urgent note, and you can feel it, too; pressure and heat rising in your groin, your shame globes aching with the need for release as your nook flutters around his bulge. So good, it feels so good, and you have no idea why you waited so long to do this with him because surely this has to be the most amazing thing in the world. In all the worlds.

You'd heard the metallic clank as he set a pail down beside you earlier, and now you reach out, groping in that general direction. Of course you manage to knock it over instead of grabbing it, and it rolls out of your reach with a rattle that kicks your internal heat up another notch.

He curses under his breath, and releases you with one hand in order to retrieve the wayward pail. When he shoves it against your chest the cool metal is a shock to your overheated skin, and you gasp. Somehow the two of your manage to untangle enough to get to your knees without actually losing contact with each other. He's shaking against you now, probably with the effort of holding back, and his claws screech on the metal as he wrestles the pail into position.

It's a short distance between his hip and his groin, and before he realizes what you're up to you've got your fingers wrapped around his shame globes, tugging gently. That's enough to push him past the breaking point, and he keens sharply as he jerks helplessly into your touch. His genetic material hits your hand on the way to the bucket, but you don't care in the least, savouring the noises he's making and the way he's shuddering against you.

That and the muffled sounds of liquid hitting the metal pail are enough to break you as well. The release of genetic material triggers a rush of chemicals in your mutant brain that leaves you drowning in the best possible way.

"Fuck," he's muttering as you return to reality. He sounds... panicked, almost, and that doesn't make any sense at all. His trembling now feels less like it's due to pleasure and more like he's fighting the urge to attack, his muscles tense with aggression. "Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ , oh shit..."

Now you _really_ want to be able to see him, because you have no idea where this came from or what's wrong. You really hope it wasn't something you did, but how could it be anything else? "Kk? What..."

"Nothing. Nothing, it's nothing," he says sharply, like he's trying to convince himself as well as you. "Never mind, I'm panicking over nothing. Shit."

You slide your thumb over his cheek, trying to read his expression, but all you can get is the sense of a scowl. You could have guessed that on your own without any extra sensory input. Sighing, you decide not to push the issue. You don't want to ruin the moment further by sending him into a full-on paranoid fit as he tries to hide whatever-it-is from you.

"It's okay," you tell him instead, and nuzzle at his cheek. He relaxes slowly against you, letting you cuddle him. Nudging the bucket out of the way, you shift around so you're both arranged more comfortably, you sitting with your back to the wall and him leaning against your chest.

Your other hand is still covered in his genetic material. Without thinking about it you lift it to your mouth to lick it, something that has already become an instinctive reaction to just about everything. He shouts and swipes at your wrist with his claws, but it's too late... the intense taste of cherries has already flooded your mouth, so strong you nearly choke on it.

Oh.

 _Oh_.

Just like that, suddenly everything about him makes so much more sense. His constant crabbiness, his near-hermit status before the game, his absolute refusal to become intimate with anyone. Except you, and then only after you were blinded, because that made you 'safe', unable to see what would be impossible to hide from a matesprit or kismesis. The colour of his genetic material, and therefore the colour of his blood.

And now you know why Terezi was so disproportionately disappointed when he chose you over her. _She_ could probably smell the colour beneath his skin no problem, and the thought of having a concupiscent quadrant whose genetic material was her favourite colour must have put her over the moons.

He's shaking again, probably caught between equally strong urges to flee and to kill you. He's also trying to pull away, but you quickly get your arm around him and stop him from moving back any further. You're sure he's probably glaring at you, but that never bothered you even when you could see it.

"Dumbass," you say softly, pityingly, putting everything in your heart into the word. "You're my _matesprit_. I'm not going to hurt you. It just gives me even more reason to feel bad for you. Besides," you grin wickedly, and lick your fingers again just to hear the strangled little yelp he makes. "Tz's right, this is fucking delicious."

Red was already one of your favourite colours, but now you think it might just be the best flavour in the fucking universe.


End file.
